


jenna221b's "Things you said" prompts

by jenna221b



Series: Ficlet Prompts from tumblr [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crying John, Crying Sherlock, Dancing, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Episode Fix-It: s04e03 The Final Problem, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, First Kiss, Fluff, Harry Watson - Freeform, Hug Scene (Sherlock: The Lying Detective), Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Romance, Sherlock Likes to Dance, Sick John, Stars, The Three Garridebs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-10-03 05:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10237004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna221b/pseuds/jenna221b
Summary: Filled ficlet prompts from "The things you said" list: http://jenna221b.tumblr.com/post/158283312730/prompts-1-things-you-said-at-1-am-2-thingsJohn & Sherlock & little moments from their on-going love story. <3Tags updating with each new prompt posted.





	1. things you said under the stars and in the grass

“I never really looked,” you say. 

It surprises me. I turn away from the sky, to your face. You’re almost smiling, almost sighing.

“Hmm?”

You hum and point vaguely in the direction of the stars. “I dunno. Never took the time to…” You trail off and turn to me, and you’re definitely smiling, now. “I always loved it, y’know, that you did. Took the time.”

“I memorised it,” I say. A near whisper. “The constellations.”

You snort and giggle, and my heart is singing. “Yeah. You got 45% in that kids astronomy quiz on that app thing.”

“I- that was an automatic download.”

You laugh again, but you’re starting to shiver slightly. I sit up, slip off my coat. 

“Why do you never dress _season appropriately?_ ” I tut. You sit up too, and I slide the coat over your shoulders, keeping it in place so you don’t shrug it off. But you’re laughing too much to do so. I love you.

“To be fair, I didn’t think we’d be lying on the grass in Regent’s Park. Next time warn me.”

“Spontaneous romantic moments, John.” 

You lean forward and kiss me. Cold lips ( _warm heart_ ). “Yeah, I know. Thank you.”


	2. things you said while I cried in your arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's PoV: the hug scene from The Lying Detective.

I don’t know what I expected.

No, that’s a lie. And I can’t- I shouldn’t be-

I expected ridicule. Not because it’s you, never that, I just- always- whenever I’ve- even Mum-

But, you, _you_ , you wonder, you- you’re quoting fucking poetry, you know exactly what to say, even if it’s hardly anything at all, just murmuring **shh, shh, shh** , and Jesus Christ, Sherlock, _thank you._

But still I feel like I’m ruining everything, like always, like…and I try to speak, move, _do something_ , but the words are stuck and strangling me, and I choke on a sob and-

Your grip slackens oh so slightly, a warm hand rubbing a gentle circle on my neck. “John. It’s okay. Shh. You don’t have to- to try…”

If I wasn’t crying still, maybe I could have listened closer, because it almost sounded like your voice cracked, too. But, then, you’re back, smooth and gentle and perfect:

“I just need you to breathe for the next few minutes, alright? No talking, John. You’re alright. You’re still standing, still breathing, still living. You’re doing all you can. That’s it… that’s…”

God, I love you so much, Sherlock.

I’ll wait. I’ll wait until I’ve got my breath, and I’ll tell you.

I’ll keep breathing for you.


	3. things you said when you thought I was asleep

I don’t mean to drift off. Or maybe I did, it’s hard to tell. I just know my bones are aching, and my eyes are so tired, and suddenly I’ve tilted and my head’s on one of the cushions.

Must not be asleep, not fully yet, ‘cause I hear your voice, coming from the stairs, heading back from Speedy’s. 

“John! They’d run out of the plain scones, so I had to get fruit but I can pick them out for y-oh.”

Your _oh_ is so hushed. Like I’m something amazing. Strange.

I must drift again. The next thing I know, your coat is on top of me. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d laugh. I know you singed the blankets in that Last Experiment and haven’t figured out how to tell me yet. I won’t mind, you idiot.

A hand in my hair. 

“You rest, now.” A breath. “You look so… good. You’re doing so well, John. I’m- I’m… glad. I’m proud.”


	4. things you said when you were drunk

“I know something you don’t knooooow,” you tease, and I can’t help but laugh. You’re so funny like this, so… un-self-conscious. It’s a good look on you, you know.

“Oh?” I pour more wine. “Colour me intrigued, John Watson.” 

You lean close, and almost spill wine on my shirt- not that I would mind, of course. “Out of the two of us… you’re the romantic.”

My face feels suddenly warm. “How so?” I say. I make the words an old BBC voice parody: clipped, more RP, I know you like it. 

You speak in an over dramatic whisper, even though it’s just the two of us. “Because, you actually think my singing is _good_.” 

I pull back, affronted. “It is! You have a lovely voice. It’s true.” 

“Oh my god, Sherlock.” Your words are filled with giggles. “I’m so shit, this is so-”

“If you’re suggesting I’m tone deaf, frankly-”

“Nah. Tune a violin? Excellent. Sing yourself? Bloody… _marvelous._ Y’should do that more often. The singing thing. But, hearing _me_ sing… you’ve got no idea.”

“I hope this is going somewhere nice.”

You kiss me, and yes, _very_ good. “ _So_ that must mean you’re the romantic. Out of us two.”

“Mmm.” More kissing, please. “I concede it.”

(We’re both romantics. I’ll tell you that sober.)


	5. things you said while we were having breakfast

“Oh. You’ve got a bit of- on your-”

“Sherlock. I know there’s butter on my face, I’m _enjoying_ my toast.”

“Mmm, alright. Just looking out for you.”

“Ta. Knight in shining armour, indeed.”

“I hope that’s not sarcasm, dearest.”

“Dearest. _Dearest?_ Since when have you ever-”

“Sarcasm, dearest-hey!”

“ _Now_ , who’s got butter on their face, _dearest?_ ”

“Ahh, _that’s_ how you’re playing. Well…. oh dear! Too slow, John!”

“You owe me one slice of toast.”


	6. things you said when you were crying

I can’t tell exactly what sets you off- not yet. I know you’ve been much quieter lately- you tend to do that when… you’re too hard on yourself, Sherlock, you must know that.

Not every case can have a happy ending. It’s impossible.

You’ve started running a bath when I hear it: the clatter of your knees as they hit the tiles. I’m running to you before I’ve realised I’m actually moving. Because I know, I _know_ now- the thundering sound of the running water was meant to keep me from hearing.

I wish you wouldn’t do that. I _want_ to hear. I want to be there for you.

I open the door and you’re shaking, oh Sherlock, your hands clinging to your knees and shaking, and shaking.

A high pitched, awful, stifled wail. As if you still think you can muffle the sound, and keep it from me. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you’re moaning, again and again. 

I sit down in front of you. “Sherlock.” I cover my hands over yours, squeeze them, steady them. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I-I’m- oh my God-”

You suck in a breath, and I see your chest jerk with it. Your hand flies up to your mouth, trying to trap it, keep it all back.

“Don’t be sorry.” I reach over, hug you, keep you close. Touching, slow and gentle, just like you are with me. I want to ground you. Make you realise you’re safe.You do all this for me, Sherlock, all this and more. 

You can have this. It’s allowed.

“You’re okay… shh. You’re okay. I’m here. We’re both here.”

I feel one of your arms reach over and shut off the tap. I pull back to see you finally looking at me, straight at me, even when your face is red and blotchy and tears are still coming. You’re so brave, Sherlock.

You nod at the tap. “D-don’t want us to drown,” you say, and there’s a laugh buried beneath the sob.

You’re okay.


	7. things you said as we danced in our socks

I catch you at it at breakfast. You’ve put the radio on and there’s some jazzy upbeat number playing.

And, there you go, socked feet tapping out the rhythm. _Quick-step, ball-change_. 

I walk over and turn the radio up, and your steps become brighter, even more energetic. “Why don’t you just buy tap shoes again?” I ask. 

You turn to smile at me. Shrug. “Habit, I suppose. Had to practice like this at home- otherwise I’d scuff the floorboards.”

I hold out my hand and you take it without hesitation. That still gives me a thrill. You spin into me, grandiose and silly. I nudge one of your toes with my own. 

“That can’t have been fun.” 

The song crescendos with a swell of trumpets, and you tug, and we’re in some sort of odd half-waltz, half-polka-uh, I don’t really know what you’re doing-

You do a little skip and wiggle your toes.

“ _This_ is fun, though.”


	8. things you said in your sleep

There’s still so much I don’t know. And I want to know, John. I want to help.

A cloud passes across your face in sleep, and I hate that. Whatever’s causing it, I want to destroy it.

I shift closer to you in bed, reach out a hand. I don’t know what to do.

But, you make the decision for me: your body tenses, face twitching, and you’re making these awful, quietly desperate whimpers. “No…no…” You say it with barely a whisper of air.

I move closer still, and I’m somehow acting without thinking, pure instinct. I want to _help._

“John.” I hope I’m quiet enough to not abruptly wake you, loud enough to be heard through whatever you’re dreaming about. “John, you’re alright.”

You sigh, once rigid shoulders relaxing. “Sher… Sherlock.”

“Yes.” I stroke your hair. “That’s right. You’re… you’re here John. 221B. You’re safe.”

I feel you lean into my hand. “Hmm. Home.” Your lips hardly move, but I know what I heard. And then, the tension falls away completely. You sigh again, slow, deep, and I know you’re fast asleep again.

I hope. I hope I’ve helped.


	9. things you always meant to say but never got the chance

That shade of blue suits you.

You’re extraordinary.

No-one’s ever remembered just how I like my tea before.

So. Will you stay?

You have a way with words. Really.

You surprise me.

I’m lonely when you’re gone.

I don’t think I could survive if anything ever-

What have you done to me?

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I’m so in love with you.

I can’t help it.

I can’t do this without you.

You are a miracle all on your own.

I didn’t just mean _you keep me right_. You keep me safe. 

How can you not see it?

Do you not want to see it?

If I don’t tell you I’ll cry, and I do tell you I’ll-

I’m so scared. You help me not be.

I think some part of me decided to _allow_ myself to fall in love with you since you lent me your phone.

Thank you.


	10. things you said when I was unconscious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on The Final Problem being John's dream while he's in hospital.

You can’t hear me.

You have to stop this. Stop it.

_Please._

Wake up.

I don’t think you understand how this cannot happen.

This can’t be happening.

Oh God.

Oh my God.

Help.

John.

This is wrong. You shouldn’t look so _small_ , John, please, please, say you can hear me, open your eyes, do something. Anything.

I can’t lose you. Not again.

You- you- can’t you see- I made a vow to always be there, and I can’t do that if you’re not-

I’m sorry. 

This is my fault.

Oh Christ, John, I’m so sorry.

Please, please, oh please please, will you do this for me, just this one-

Keep breathing.

I love you.

Come back.

Come back to me.


	11. things you said too quietly

John says it behind the glass of water Sherlock gives him. 

“What?” Sherlock says.

He truly doesn’t catch it, and that worries him, when John is quiet, too quiet.

John sighs. He sets the glass down with a thunk, and Sherlock tries not to wince at the sight of his hand shaking.

John clears his throat, and he repeats himself: “What if- Sherlock. What if she’s right?”

“John. _No_.” Sherlock sits down on the kitchen chair next to him, reaching over to clasp John’s hand tight. “Of course she isn’t. People… people say- things- in the heat of the moment and- even, even if she _did_ mean it, that doesn’t make it true.”

John tears his hand away to put his face in his hands. “But, it is, it _is_ t-true. I abandoned Mum and her and-” His back trembles. “I left _you_.” 

And, no, Sherlock will not stand for this. He gently takes John’s hands and pulls them off his face, so he can look at him properly.

“You came back,” Sherlock reminds him simply. “And, John… what Harry… that wasn’t your fault. That was _never_ your fault.”

John is hugging him in earnest, and Sherlock pats his back, soothing the tremors away.

“I love you,” John says, and it’s still too quiet, but it’s a little louder than before, a little braver.

It’s enough.


	12. things you said after you kissed me

“John.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

“You-John. You _kissed_ me.”

“Did… is that…”

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it. Now. I mean it, John.”

“You told me you loved me.”

“Yes. Yes-I-I did. That’s true.”

“I couldn’t- Jesus, Sherlock. You know I- I find this… difficult. Words, I-”

“Oh, John. You _showed_ me.”

“No, don’t. Please, Sherlock. Please. Let me finish.”

“Alright. …John. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I’m so in love with you- oh, Christ, Sherlock. You-you have to know. I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“John. Oh. Oh, oh, don’t cry, I’m-”

“For _years_ , Sherlock. I’ve wanted to kiss you for… since we ran after that bloody ‘Welcome to London’ thing.”

“I-why…why didn’t you kiss me then? Why didn’t you?”

“I… I don’t know. I-”

“It’s okay-”

“I was too scared-”

“-me too, but John-”

“Yeah?”

“I’d like to kiss you back, now. Very much.”

“Oh, God, yes.” 


	13. things you said when you asked me to marry you

He’s been thinking about asking for a while. A very long while. 

And that’s the trouble, John realises, far too late. He’s been thinking about it for so long that he’s built it up into something Too Much, and yes it _is_ a big thing (of course it is, otherwise his palms wouldn’t be sweating) but oh God, he didn’t want his heart to be racing at _quite_ this pace when he-

Sherlock pauses in pouring his wine, his eyes catching John’s. He smiles, but there’s a little frown behind it. “You alright?”

Why did he have to do it in a restaurant, all this sitting and _waiting_ , and never quite knowing when to say it and his tongue refusing to co-operate and… John clears his throat and nods. 

But Sherlock is still looking at him, wine bottle suspended in the air with one hand. “Are you sure? You look a bit…” He considers, then says: “Peaky.” 

“I’m fine,” John lies. His voice is all croaky.

Sherlock’s frown deepens. “You’re nervous, why are you nervous? It’s only Angelos.” He starts looking around the restaurant accusingly, as if there’s a hidden culprit for John’s mood. 

“God, I love you.” It comes out of him naturally, without fear, just a truth, plainly stated.

But John still can’t stop from drumming his fingers on the table. It’s a tell, but he can’t help it.

Sherlock sets down the wine bottle, and his eyes flicker over John, before widening. He inhales quickly, holds it, then breathes out deliberately slowly.

“Let’s… let’s go home,” Sherlock says. Each word is hesitant, carefully placed.

John feels his panic rise. “I-no-Sher- but we haven’t even-”

“Angelo will be fine with it. Look, a cab’s just stopped outside, perfect.” Sherlock stands with decisiveness. He looks at John pointedly. “If I’m right, then… then this is… and if I’m wrong, well-” His hand waves dismissively, but John can see right through him. “No matter.”

John has to repeatedly remind himself not to cling onto the box in his pocket during the whole taxi ride. 

When they’re home, Sherlock takes his hand and gently pulls him up the stairs. He stops in front of the window, and turns around, and squeezes John’s hand.

“John. I…” He coughs. “If I’m wrong, then as I said, it’s… forget it. But.”

There’s a painful pause, and John truly thinks his heart is going to burst out of him in anxiety. “But what, Sherlock?”

Sherlock takes a deep breath. “I don’t need… the whole. Well. Wine and…and sitting. And. I’ve never needed- I just want. _You_. Always. And. Oh, John.” There’s the beginnings of a shaky, nervous smile on his lips. “You just need to _ask._ ”

John’s fingers find the box. “That’s… isn’t that too easy?”

Sherlock makes a frustrated half laugh, half groan. “Christ, John, for once in our lives can’t something be simple? Please.”

And John lets Sherlock’s words guide him. He can feel the courage building, his nerves fading. “I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

He takes a moment to breathe. Sherlock’s lips are pressed tight, almost white.

“Are you okay?” John asks.

Sherlock nods, not very convincingly. “Yes. Sorry I- I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

And it’s just hearing that shaky uncertainty in Sherlock’s voice that gives John that one last little push. _Get the hell on with it, Watson._

He pulls out the box and opens it to reveal the ring. He speaks over Sherlock’s gasp: “Sherlock, I love you, I love you so much. You’re… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and- and-”

_Just ask._

“Sherlock. Will you marry me?”

An outburst of noise: a suppressed sob. _“Yes!”_

John looks up, and it’s only then that he notices Sherlock’s had his hand over his mouth for the rest of the time he’s been talking. He’s laughing, and crying, and John rushes to him, can hardly put the ring on his finger because they’re both shaking so much.

“Yes,” Sherlock keeps on saying, “I will, I will, yes, John, it’s always been- it’s always you, yes, I will…”

And John kisses him, this wonder of a man who’s still crying, this brave soul who somehow knew exactly what John needed, all without daring himself to hope that he was right.

The whole time. He only needed to ask.


	14. things you said while putting Rosie to bed -- and you didn't notice I overheard

John deduces that Sherlock must have turned off the baby monitor so as not to wake him. It’s a lovely gesture, it really is, but he still wakes anyway- probably his body realising that the space next to him in bed was empty. 

He blinks the sleep away, and it takes him a few seconds to figure out where Sherlock has gone. He turns, and yeah, there it is, the monitor on its side, switched off. He flicks it back on.

A rustle of clothes, and Rosie’s cries. They’re not the beginning shrill ones, they’ve already calmed into little whimpers.

“There, now,” Sherlock’s voice comes through the speakers. “Just a dream. Only a dream, darling. Shh. That’s it, that’s it.”

John smiles, and is almost lulled back to sleep himself. But then, Sherlock’s voice changes a little:

“Can I tell you a secret?” And there’s a laugh wrapped up in the words: “You have to promise not to tell. Scout’s honour, Watson.”

Of course, there’s no reply. But there’s another quiet sound of clothes shifting again- Sherlock moving Rosie closer. And then, John’s ears strain to hear- yes. A quick kiss on the top of her head.

“I have bad dreams, too,” Sherlock murmurs. “Well, everyone does really but- yes. They feel real but… they won’t hurt you. I promise. Your Daddy would say the same, I’m sure. You just need to…”

He trails off. At first, John thinks there’s something wrong, and he braces himself to move, but then the speakers pick up on the noise: Sherlock, unmistakably yawning into his sleeve. 

Oh, bless him, John thinks.

The monitor falls silent. John could tiptoe into Rosie’s room and have his suspicions confirmed: Sherlock, back resting against the cot, Rosie tucked into his chest, both fast asleep. 

For now, he sets the morning alarm a little earlier than usual. He decides tomorrow will be a breakfast in bed day.


	15. things you said after it was over

“Is… is… are you-”

“Sherlock. It’s okay.”

“It’s… is it?”

“Sherlock, look at me.”

“You-John-”

“Steady breaths. Good. You okay?”

“You- you could have _died_.”

“Haven’t. Didn’t.”

“How- how can you just-John-”

“Because, we’ve made it. Sherlock, can’t y- don’t you… we’re _here_ and we’re living and it’s going to be fine. _Really_. More than fine.”

“Y-yes?”

“Yes.”

“You’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m here.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my-”

“Sherlock?”

“For God’s _sake_ , stop just standing there and _kiss me._ ”


	16. things you said that made me feel like shit

“Unbelievable,” John whispers. The quieter he is, the more serious the situation. “Just truly. Unbeliev-”

“It was a calculated risk,” Sherlock cuts in. He feels like shrinking away, but he pushes that thought aside.

John gapes, and his fists clench. “A calculated risk? That’s a load of lies, Sherlock, I-”

“It _was_. Just because you-”

“Bollocks.”

“John, it was worth-”

“No, shut up. Nothing is worth-” John cuts himself off to suck in a breath, and Sherlock feels his insides recoiling. He can’t let this- he has to-

“John, you don’t understand. Just let me-”

John’s hits the kitchen table with one palm. “No, Sherlock, you just need to listen. Everyone always _lets_ you do whatever you want, consequences be damned and that’s- I can’t-”

The room suddenly feels very cold. Sherlock almost retches with it, at the familiarity of those words, some distant nightmare…

“I’m sorry.” He forces it out, closing his eyes. “I didn’t mean- I got it wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Sherlock. Hey. …Sherlock, can you look at me, please? Really look?”

Sherlock is brave. He does. John is staring at him, eyes wide and begging to be listened to.

“I don’t…I don’t mind you making mistakes. ‘Course I don’t, we’re only human. But don’t go off- don’t just leave me. Nothing’s worth that.”

Sherlock nods. He steps forward, steadying himself with his hands landing on John’s shoulders. “I know. I’m sorry, I _am_ \- I just couldn’t let you be-”

“Together or not at all, remember? I’d rather we both make mistakes than one of us be left behind.”


	17. things you said with no space between us

“Let’s just…” You yawn and stretch and then roll over, hugging me. “Do nothing in particular.”

I laugh against your neck. “Mmm, nothing in particular. Sounds lovely.” 

You hum and kiss my check. I can’t believe it took me this long to realise just how _affectionate_ you are. 

I pull away slightly and then kiss you on the lips, long and slow to start the morning. “Won’t you get bored of nothing in particular?”

I’m only teasing, but you still frown. “Of course not. Besides, it’s Sunday.”

“You’re not religious.”

“John. It’s a _sunny Sunday_.”

“Oh, I see. Sorry, must’ve missed that in the calendar for nothing in particular.”

You giggle. It’s such an easy thing to make you laugh. I’ve missed hearing it. But, all of a sudden, you fall silent. My hands go to your bare shoulders, trying to touch, soothe. 

“What is it?”

You’re shaking your head and smiling at the same time. “Nothing in particular.” You’re trying to brush it off.

I know that’s not quite it, but you’ll say when you’re ready. We settle back down for a lie in, skin against skin, and that’s when you whisper it:

“Just surprises me sometimes. In- in a good way.”

“What?”

A kiss on my shoulder now. “You’re still here.”

“Oh, Sherlock.” I hold you tight. “Of course I am. Not going anywhere.”

“Oh. Good-that’s-neither am I.”


	18. things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear

Whenever you and Mrs Hudson are together, I swear you both forget the normal decibel level of human speech.

I’m just out of the shower, and I hear your voices travelling up from downstairs. Someone must have left a door open or two. You’re laughing- always a lovely thing to hear- and so is Mrs Hudson. 

“Hudders, no, not-”

“Stop being ridiculous, young man. You’ve not had lunch.”

“Didn’t realise cake was lunch.”

I’m smiling, just about to call down to ask if Mrs H has any milk in, when you start speaking again:

“Mmm, lovely.”

“Thank you, dear.”

“John’s favourite, this.”

“I know.”

“Mrs Hudson. …Would you-”

“Of course, what did you think I was practicing it for, you clot? Great British Bake Off?”

“Oh. That’s-that’s good, thank you. Just right actually, he doesn’t like a lot of fuss but… it _is_ his birthday, after all.” 

There’s the sound of Mrs Hudson humming, the kettle being put on to boil, and you’re silent. And I haven’t stopped smiling. You ridiculous, romantic, wonderful man.

I won’t let on I know anything- although you’ll probably deduce that I know, and I’ll have to reassure you that it’s all fine. More than fine.

You’re a treasure.


	19. things you said through your teeth

“I don’t _want_ -” John spits it out with gritted teeth but then he collapses back into the pillows, giving up. “Fine- just. Forget it.”

Sherlock frowns. “John. You’re ill.” 

“It’s only a cold.”

“You don’t get signed off from a _cold_.”

John sighs and rubs his face with one hand. “Fine. You’re right. I just- don’t need someone just…”

Sherlock tries not to let it show, how those words sting.

But John must see, and he immediately backtracks. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that- I meant-I…”

Not for the first time, John trails off when he tries to explain just what he means. He pulls the sheets closer around him as if trying to hide himself. Sherlock tilts his head. He hates seeing John ill, and stuck in bed, but right now he is getting a new picture.

“John,” he tries again. “There’s nothing to be… well.” He straightens up and, also not for the first time, takes a guess. “Embarrassed?”

“I’m not. Well, maybe a little. I- I just don’t.” John sighs again, then finally looks at Sherlock directly. “I don’t like you seeing me like this. I want… I want to be _useful_.”

Sherlock sits on the bed next to him. He thinks of how John _is_ , how he itches for things he can do on cases, ways to help. How he notices people on the street some times- trouble brewing, a fight perhaps, and how he expertly diffuses it. He thinks of a young John, also ill and trapped in bed, and how he could no longer look after his sister.

“John,” Sherlock tries one last time. “You’re human. Now, let me make you tea and you can stay there, alright? That’s incredibly useful.”

John laughs finally. “Okay. Sorry- I’m being a moody nightmare.”

“No, love.” Sherlock surprises himself by saying that- usually a John saying, but as it reassures Sherlock when he hears it, it might as well help… “You just care rather a lot.” 


	20. things you said in the back seat of a cab

“Let’s just-” You’re breathing too fast, you have to cut yourself off to inhale. “-Go home. Not… talk, I-”

Your voice cracks and you’re avoiding my eyes and I hate it, hate how you force yourself to look out of the window and pretend everything is normal.

“John. You don’t have to-”

“Sherlock, please.” There’s a horrible pleading note in your voice. “I can’t- just-”

“Alright.” The cab starts to overtake, the engine growing a little louder, so I say it again. I need you to hear me. “Alright.”

But you’re already crying, and I can only tell because I see the tears on your face, lit up by the streetlamps as we whiz past. You have mastered the art of silent tears. It hurts. 

But then, the unexpected. You turn back and you’re really truly looking at me, and your hand reaches out and touches my knee. Deliberate.

“Sherlock,” you say, and you’re not even hiding the fact that you’re still crying. “Wasn’t your fault. I-just-it was too…”

I think of your pale face as you stared up at me on the roof.

“I know. I’m- I’m sorry, John.”

“Mm, don’t.” You shuffle closer and put your head on my shoulder. Your eyes are dry again. “You’ve apologised enough. Just- just…be here. Now.”

“Yes.” I kiss your forehead. “Yes, John. Always.”


	21. things you said with too many miles between us

Sherlock knows something is wrong as soon as he picks up the phone, and hears John’s breathing. It’s just a little _too_ controlled.

“John?” Sherlock’s fingers tense around his mobile. “Are you alright?”

A forced laugh. “Good evening to you, too.”

It’s not an answer. Sherlock knows this. Sherlock also knows _John_ knows this.

“Is it Harry?” he guesses.

John sighs. “…Hm. Yes and no. I- Harry’s doing… doing really well, actually, it’s just-” He sighs again. “Being back here again.”

John trails off for so long that Sherlock momentarily fears their connection has been lost. 

Then, a miracle: John coughs, and his voice sparks back into life again. 

“Just memories,” he says. Sherlock can picture the shrug that is paired so often with his words and, oh God, how he _misses_ him. 

“I understand,” Sherlock replies. He closes his eyes, and tries to picture John in the room with him. “Let’s… stay on the line? Until you sleep? You don’t need to talk.”

John laughs. “Jesus, I miss you,” he says. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I can’t wait to be home.”

Sherlock silently thrills at that, that 221B is now _home_ , and not the home town John is currently in.

They chat for hours, just the tiny, mundane things from their days. It makes Sherlock smile to hear it. He only stops when John’s voice fades away into sleep. He hangs up with the thought: _Come home, soon. Please._


	22. things you said to put me to sleep

John hates when he’s like this, when his breathing comes too fast and he can’t quite catch it. Sometimes, it just happens, as if his mind is anticipating a nightmare that hasn’t even come yet. It’s infuriating. He wants to scream, tell it to shut up, that’s there’s nothing to-

He feels Sherlock shift and turn beside him. His back tenses. He doesn’t want Sherlock to wake when it’s for something so stupid as…

Sherlock’s hand on his back, fingers stroking downwards, then back up, palm firm and sure.

“Do you know,” Sherlock murmurs. His warm breath tickles John’s skin. “I found out something rather interesting today.”

John smiles into his pillow and tries to exhale properly. 

“Oh yeah?” he whispers back when he has enough breath. “Tell me.”

Sherlock does. Sometimes it is something genuinely interesting- an unknown fact unearthed in an experiment. Other times, John can tell Sherlock’s just making up little stories. Either way, he appreciates it.

Sherlock’s speech lilts and slows, a gentle waltz urging John back into sleep. It’s a practiced, steady rhythm. John finally lets himself drift along with it.


	23. things you said in a hotel room

You draw back the curtains with a dramatic flourish, and I don’t even bother to hide my smile. You truly are a writer’s dream.

“Well,” you say. “It’s not London, but… it’ll do.”

“Ooh, well spotted, Mr Holmes.” I reach up to kiss the back of your neck, then stand beside you. “Do?”

“I just mean... I meant what I said, John. It’ll do.”

I let the words sink in to just admire the view, the rare sunshine breaking through the clouds. We have the whole day to ourselves, the world at our feet. But, of course, you see worry in the silence. I hear it in the way you clear your throat.

“Of course, John, only if you... I meant- it _could_ do.”

I can’t see any clouds anymore. 

“It’s not London,” I remind you, but I make sure to kiss you, ease that worry away.

You’re smiling back. “No, well spotted. But, it could be- well, rather us, don’t you think?”

You’re kissing me back, little pecks over my cheek as I try to reply without laughing. “Yes. It’ll _do_ , you madman, more than.”

Sussex will do very nicely indeed.


	24. things you said at 1 am

“Tell me something.”

It’s a sleepy, slightly slurred mumble. John opens his eyes to see Sherlock looking down at his chest thoughtfully, tracing patterns on it with his finger.

“Hmm. Like what?”

Sherlock shrugs and yawns. “Don’t know. Nothing important. It’s late.”

John smiles. “If it’s not important then it must be boring.”

“Well, then.” Sherlock lays his head down on John’s chest, and John can feel him smiling back. “Maybe I’d rather like boring.”

“No-one’s wanted to know the… the boring bits,” John admits.

“I do.” The reply is near instantaneous. “I _do_ , John. I like hearing what you have to say.”

“Okay.” He is stroking Sherlock’s hair, fighting his hand trembling at the sincerity in Sherlock’s voice. “Okay. Then, back to sleep.”


	25. things you said in our vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> requested to be written in Doyle's Victorian era <3

Kept under lock and key. 

Words written, ink caressing paper. Promises. Devotion. I keep them in my heart, in my mind, recite them silently, drumming fingers, knowing every word of love.

_Love._

I thrill at how you write them in another notebook entirely, away from _The Strand_ drafts. They are slid into your collection of romances, tucked away from the prying world.

These words are not for publication, not for money, never for other people. They are ours and ours alone.

You vow to always protect, and cherish, and stay.

I am no writer. I leave the words to you.

Each night, I play the violin, and let the notes soar. They are my vow in return. Always.


End file.
